


The Poker Game

by Squishney_Lamppost



Series: 2-part Sprace [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Poker, a poker game, and also Jack, and some other people I made up, it is what it sounds like, with Race and Spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 20:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishney_Lamppost/pseuds/Squishney_Lamppost
Summary: Racetrack was invited to play poker with the Brooklyn boys, and gets a little more than he bargained for while defending his king of poker title.





	The Poker Game

“Hey Racetrack!” Race turned to the sound of his name and saw the famous Jack Kelly jogging over to him. School had just gotten out and Race was interested in going home, as he was onto his last lollipop, his stash that he kept in his backpack having run out. But Race always had time for Jack, one of his best friends. Race smirked and took his lollipop out of his mouth.

“Jacky, to what do I owe this meeting?” He said. Jack, panting slightly from the jog over, looked up at Race.

“I have a proposal,” Jack said. Race raised an eyebrow.

“I’m intrigued. What is this proposal?”

“Well, I need you to come with me to a poker match and show some guys up,” Jack said. Race raised both eyebrows at this. None of his friends played poker with him anymore, not after he would pick their pockets every game. But now he was being issued a challenge?

“Who with?” Race asked. Jack’s smile faded just slightly.

“Uh, well, it’s some… just some guys I know,” Jack said, evading the question. Race looked unimpressed. “Okay, so it’s some Brooklyn boys, I just don’t want you to be scared.” Race mocked an offended face.

“Me? Scared? Jack, you _offend_ me! I have never been scared in my life! You’re talking to the guy who jumped off a roof onto a trampoline for only $5!”

“Yeah and you and Crutchie were buddies for the next month because of it.”

“Ah, but I got $5.” Jack rolled his eyes at this, and Race stuck his lollipop back into his mouth. “Text me the time and place Jacky, and I’ll be there to show those Brooklyn boys who the best poker player in the city is!” Race said proudly, plastic stick hanging from his mouth.

“So you’re in? No bribes?” Jack said. Race just smiled.

“Jack, I haven’t played poker with friends in forever! Plus I’m sure I’ll get what you would’ve offered me and more from these Brooklyn kids.” Race saw this as the end of the conversation, and turned away from Jack, giving him a little wave as he practically skipped down the street. This was going to be one hell of a game.

 

Race checked his phone. This was the place, some 50s looking diner with a fading neon sign. Race had dressed up slightly for the occasion, actually buttoning up his shirt all the way for once, but still had a sucker in his mouth as always, as well as a stash in his pocket. He took a deep breath before he entered, gathering a false confidence that he knew would come across as real confidence when he entered. Fake it ‘til ya make it, and he couldn’t be looking scared when facing off against Brooklyn. He’d heard that they were tough guys, especially the “leader” he had heard of, someone named Smock or Sock or something. But he doubted someone like Jack knew that guy. Race closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them with a new determination. He busted open the doors.

Inside, the diner was warm and homey. There was a jukebox in the corner playing some random song Race didn’t know the name of, and there were people there eating and talking. It wasn’t too full, except for one table that seemed to have a small crowd surrounding it. _That must be the place_ , Race thought to himself. He walked towards the group, and as he got closer he could see through the crowd better to a small group of guys holding cards. One of them was Jack, who looked a bit sweaty as he glanced between his cards and the other guys around him. Race surveyed his competition. Only one of the guys really caught his eye. He was short, but took up a large amount of presence at the table. He had a stone poker face, looking permanently angry. And though Race is not one to stare, his eyes may have gotten caught on the mystery man’s arms. Boy, was he ripped. Race turned quickly away, fighting his blush. _No being gay at poker night_ , he told himself. He snuck another glance at the guy’s arms. _Okay, you can be a little gay at poker night_ , He corrected.

“I fold!” Jack said, throwing his cards down. This jolted Race out of his thoughts and back to the table. Some other guy folded, some guy matched the bet before, Hot Guy with the Nice Arms (That was his name is Race’s mind) raised the bet. Those two showed their cards, and Hot Guy with the Nice Arms looked to have one, and took the crumpled bills from the center.

“Hey Racer, you made it!” Jack said, having noticed Race’s appearance at the table.

“I wouldn’t miss winning a poker game Jacky,” Race responded smugly.

“This is my friend Racetrack, he’s gonna play a few rounds,” Jack said to the others. They glared at Race, already put off by his comment, but Race just smiled. The boys at the table introduced themselves.

“Hotshot.”  
“Sniper.”  
“Crunch.”  
“Stitches.”

“Spot.”

Race smiled at all of them, particularly Hot Guy with the Nice Arms, or as he was apparently named, Spot.

“Well boys, ready to play?” Race said as he took his seat.

“We’ve been playing for half an hour,” the one Race remembered as Hotshot said. Race’s smile became a little more dangerous at that.

“I guess I should rephrase. Are you boys ready to actually play?” Race responded. The room seemed to dim at little at that, eyes narrowing at the cocky newcomer. Race wasn’t phased. That was extremely important in poker; don’t get phased. Keep your face neutral, don’t let them know what you have or don’t have, and figure out their tell before they figure out yours. But Race had been playing a long time, and he didn’t have much of a tell. Spot raised his eyebrows as he shuffled the deck. He began to pass out cards. The game had begun.

Race figured Stitches out first. He was pretty easy, he pursed his lips when he lied, making it easy for Race to figure out he had nothing and raise the stakes. After that it was Sniper, who’s fingers twitched. Hotshot was harder, but he blinked a little funny after bluffing. After figuring out those three, Race swept the table most every time. Eventually they were betting some gift cards and candy as dollar bills ran out, and despite their best efforts, Race won again and again. His only competition was Spot, who he hadn’t figured out yet. But Race hadn’t been figured out yet either, so Race’s further experience in the matter gave him an advantage. However, every now and then Spot would have his way with the pot, and Race would frown just slightly.

It was getting late, and Hotshot, Sniper, and Stitches, tired of losing to Race again and again, had sat out the game. Jack had opted out a long time ago, knowing he would never beat Race, but revelled in watching Race beat the guys who had been kicking his ass for the past few weeks.

Despite the late night, the crowd had only gotten bigger at the final round. Race and Spot stared at each other from across the table. One face angry, one almost blank with calm, but there was a twinkle in his eye that only came with playing poker. Each kept throwing more and more on the table, getting more intense with every round. Race loved this, loved the adrenaline, loved the competition, loved the gambles and especially loved playing across from a guy as good looking as Spot was. Race was still intently looking at him every turn, trying to find the one thing that would give him away, but he still hadn’t. Until, in a single moment, everything went quiet for just a second and Race caught it.

It was tiny. Miniscule. No one would notice it if they weren’t really looking, but Race really enjoyed looking at Spot’s face, and in memoizing every detail, he saw one that was very important. Spot upped the bet, and as he did, Race caught him just barely biting the inside of his cheek, moving the skin ever so slightly. Race’s grin widened.

“Spot, I would like to raise the bet in a little bit of an unconventional way,” Race proposed. Spot raised an eyebrow.

“I’m listening,” He said, some of the only words he has spoken all night besides raise and fold.

“If I win,” Race said, “then I get to take you out on a date.”

The diner froze. The Brooklyn guys looked at each other, disbelieving. This scrawny guy from the other side of the bridge had just asked out Spot Conlon. The Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn. Over a poker game. Even Jack looked terrified as he tapped Race on the shoulder and brought him in close.

“Racetrack… that’s Spot Conlon you just asked out. Ya know, King of Brooklyn, can knock you out with one punch. Toughest guy in Brooklyn?” Jack squeaked out. Race gripped his cards just a little bit tighter, but kept his face the same. So he was right, it was Smock or Sock or something. But Race had done worse for far less money. And Race was feeling lucky. He turned away from Jack.

“So Spot, what do ya say?”

“What’s in it for me?” Spot replied. Race hadn’t really thought about that part, but it wasn’t too hard to figure something out.

“How about everything I’ve won from all your boys? Every single penny, card, stamp, paperclip, everything. I’ve barely bet half in this game,” Race said. Everyone’s breath tightened. That was a pretty huge bet. And if Race lost, then he would likely never recover. He wouldn’t be seen at poker night again, losing everything in a single round like that. Well, that’s what the other boys were thinking at least. Race on the other hand, wasn’t even thinking about losing. He was thinking about where he and Spot would go when they went on the date Race was about to win. Well, as long as Spot said yes. The diner felt deathly silent as Spot weighed his decision.

“Alright Racer, you’re on,” Spot finally said. And gosh, Spot saying Race’s name was enough to make Race swoon, but he had already said he wasn’t allowed to be too gay at poker night, and honestly asking out your competition as a bet was pretty gay for poker already.

“Perfect. There’s my bet, you’ve taken yours. Let’s see your hand, Conlon,” Race said. Spot set down his cards and the table whistled. A full house. That was a pretty solid hand. But Race had seen Spot’s hesitation, seen him bite his cheek, and looking back at his hand, he smiled.

“Well Spot, I hope you’re free friday, I know this great Italian place,” Race said, putting his hand on the table. The onlookers stared in disbelief. A royal flush. That beat a full house by a mile. Race took out a pen from his pocket, grabbed the ace from his set of cards, and wrote a string of numbers on it, sliding it across the table. Spot caught it, and picked it up. Race winked as he stood up, the crowd parting for the new poker master of New York. Race strut out of the diner, pockets full of cash and other various knick-knacks, with Jack, empty-pocketed, trailing behind.

“Racer, what the hell? How did ya know you’d win that?” Jack said in disbelief. Race wiggled his eyebrows a few times at Jack, unwrapping a cherry lollipop and sticking it in his mouth.

“I never reveal my secrets, Jacky!” he said with a smile. Jack rolled his eyes, but was happy nonetheless. They had just started the walk over to their cars when a voice called out.

“Hey, Racetrack!” Race turned around faster than he had in his life, recognizing the Brooklyn accent. Spot Conlon walked up to Jack and Race.

“Go on ahead Jacky, I’ll catch up with ya,” Race said, not even looking at Jack. Jack just nodded and walked away from the pair. “So, Spotty, what do you need on this fine evening? Can’t wait for our date on Friday?” Race said, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth.

Spot didn’t respond, instead electing to grab Race by his buttoned up collar and kiss him hard on the lips, just for a moment. He released the dazed Racer, smirking up at Race’s shocked expression.

“You taste like cherries,” Spot said, before turning around and walking back into the diner. Race stood in the parking lot for a moment longer, not believing what had happened. A buzz from the phone in his pocket brought him out of his daze.

 **Unknown Number:** See you Friday

Race smiled and pocketed his phone, sticking his cherry lollipop into his mouth with a satisfied smile. He’d have to thank Jack for the invite to poker night. He’d won way more than he’d bargained for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first fic in the newsies fandom, so feedback and comments are appreciated! Hopefully I post more in the future, so stay tuned and have a lovely day!


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